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My favorite Thanksgiving memory has nothing to do with my childhood. Oh, we had a few wonderful Thanksgivings when I was a child - we celebrated it every once in a while when we were living in a country where November means "beach season" and they were still great in their own way - but I'd be lying if I said that any one of them stood out.

Instead, my most memorable Thanksgiving is the one where I met my husband. Forget Valentine's day - Thanksgiving is the most romantic time of the year for us. It's a little weird, but it works for us.

It wasn't always that way, of course. When I was a carefree young professional, Thanksgiving meant a slow work week where we already had 2.5 days off - so a couple of girlfriends and I started the tradition of taking the entire week off work and when you're young and single and mostly broke, that can only mean one thing: ROAD TRIP!

So that year, that's what we did. We drove on I95 for two days, and when we arrived in Washington DC it was the Saturday before Thanksgiving. The city was abuzz with young people out for one last night out before they headed home to be with their families. And that was the night I met my husband.

We had just met, but he acted horrified by the fact that we didn't have any plans for Thanksgiving dinner. Weren't we Americans? (Yes.) Isn't that against the law? (No.)

So he and two of his friends did what any good American boys would do - they invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner.

We had no other plans, and he's kind of cute, so we said yes. And then the guys went into panic mode, ordering a precooked turkey from Giant, buying napkins and candles, and - here's my favorite part - collecting assorted pieces of silverware from their various bachelor friends because they didn't have enough forks and spoons for a dinner for eight.

Isn't that the cutest thing you ever heard?

The best part is that when we arrived everything was perfect - there were candles and wine and they even invited other friends over so that we could meet new people. After a few glasses of wine one of my friends asked how much longer until the turkey was done.

Done?

In all the wining and chatting, they forgot to put the turkey in the oven! (Even "pre-cooked" turkeys need to go in the oven.)

Thankfully, my friend Andrea is a fantastic cook, and she somehow managed to save the day. The turkey was fine, but the best part was after dinner, when the man who would one day be my husband came over with the wishbone and asked me to make a wish.